


Sweet Misery (Worick Arcangelo x Reader One Shot)

by ThatGinjahNinja



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Casual, F/M, Fanfic, Fic, High Heels, Hot, Lemon, Lime, Literature, Love, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexy, Smut, argue, fan fiction, flirt, long coat, tease, wallace - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGinjahNinja/pseuds/ThatGinjahNinja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next song inspired One Shot with my newest anime obsession. I hope you enjoy it.</p><p>Oh, Gangsta. you give me life! ^_^ If you haven't checked this one out yet, it's a must. A freaking absolute must. Heartbreaking, Beautiful, Hilarious...Nico and Worick 5-EVAH!! Reader-chan will give you the love, Worick...all day, every day.</p><p>Song(s): Crazy; Cryin'<br/>Artist: Aerosmith<br/>Character: Worick Arcangelo<br/>Fandom: Gansta.</p><p> </p><p>  <i></i><br/><span>Here are the links to the two songs that 9000% inspired this fiction: <a class="external" href="http://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://youtu.be/jFl9edZ1H14"><span class="u">[link]</span></a> & <a class="external" href="http://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://youtu.be/ivuAhoB8VzQ"><span class="u">[link]</span></a></span><br/> </p><p> </p><p>  <i><br/>    <span>“<b>Crazy</b>” & “<b>Cryin’</b>” –Aerosmith (Steven Tyler, my imagination salutes you.)</span><br/>  </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i><br/>    <span>*Cover image is a screen grab from manga (purchased online).</span><br/>  </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Misery (Worick Arcangelo x Reader One Shot)

**NOTE: Advance warning that this piece is a lemon (Hello, Mr. Arcangelo) and that there is extremely shameless and generous usage of direct lines from the Aerosmith tracks “Cryin’” and “Crazy” because if anyone can get away with saying the shit Steven Tyler says in his songs and still come across as sexy and romantic…it’s Worick Arcangelo. Ya know what I’m saying? YOW!**

 

_Here are the links to the two songs that 9000% inspired this fiction:[[link]](http://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://youtu.be/jFl9edZ1H14) & [[link]](http://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://youtu.be/ivuAhoB8VzQ) _

_“ **Crazy** ” & “ **Cryin’** ” –Aerosmith (Steven Tyler, my imagination salutes you.) _

 

 

 

“Come ‘ere, baby,” his voice beckoned.  (Hey, you were warned. [#notevensorry](http://www.deviantart.com/tag/notevensorry) )

You were lounging on the couch, reading a book, with your feet propped casually in your lover’s lap. You could feel Worick’s gaze on you and knew he was waiting rather impatiently for you to look up from your story. Head still turned to the page, you lifted your (e/c) eyes slightly to find him grinning at you lecherously.

“Tch. What do you want, Worick?” came your testy voice.

“What kind of question is that, (nickname)-chan?” he pouted, making use of his gloriously full lips. “Nico’s not even here right now. He’s on a quick errand,” he added, hoping that reminding you of Nicolas’ absence would peak your interest.

“Not right now. I’m busy. I want to finish this one before work tomorrow,” you said off-handedly, referring to the book you had been engrossed in for the last few hours.

“But that’s not fair,” he whined, pulling his lose hair up into its messy ponytail. “Look what you’re wearing, honey! How am I supposed to react?”

You rolled your eyes as you looked down at yourself. You had on one of Worick’s expensive dress shirts. It was so oversized that it came past your knees and at the opening of the sleeves, only the tiniest bit of your fingertips were all that could be seen. To you, it seemed like a nightdress a grandmother would wear. “You’re ridiculous! You can’t even see anything.”

As he grinned and slid a hand up your smooth leg, he cooed, “No, but I know what’s under there, don’t I?” You raised an eyebrow as he continued, “How am I supposed to think of anything else when I know your delicate bare breasts are resting against my shirt?”

Giving him an admonishing look, you asked, “So, you like that?”

“Hnn,” he laughed as his dazzling blue eye flashed at you, “It’s driving me crazy.”

“Really?” you said, as your voice changed to seduction. You marked your page and lay the book on the cushion. Rising to your knees, you straddled him without lowering your hips down to meet his jeans, you repeated against his ear, “You like that, Worick?”

He moaned a low approval as you tugged his lobe gently with your teeth. His hands slid tantalizingly up the shirt of his that hung on your body, running expert fingers along the outline of your (f/c) panties and making you shudder. He kissed you long and passionately as you began to undo the buckle on his pants, folding the opening down and making Worick squirm.

You licked slowly down his exposed chest and abdomen, lower and lower until the tip of your tongue was so near the tip of his member, he could feel your warm breath driving him wild.

You looked up at him and said coldly, “Then let me finish the damn book!” and crawled back in the corner of the couch to resume your reading.

*********

 

Worick tried to find his thoughts again, anything other than the throbbing pressure below his briefs. Swallowing hard he cocked an eyebrow at you and groaned, “Aren’t you full of nasty tricks this evening?”

You didn’t even bother to look up. He pursed his lips in frustration. You pulled this with him all the time, and it only made you more irresistible in his eyes. Women and men alike had long paid good money for his expert love-making, and the fact that anyone even had the ability to thrill him as much as you did was all the more reason he obsessed over you. For Worick, your torturous game was sweet misery.

He wanted everything about you—your (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, inviting lips, and all that fell below. He never stopped wanting it. He thought about the devilishness of your kiss and perfectness of your moist flesh around his any time of day or night.

Besides that, knowing you had given him a safe place to keep his heart took Worick’s breath away. You loved him. You cared about what happened to him. It wasn’t the kind of pitying care or desperate care that his clients sometimes offered him. He wasn’t just flesh to fulfill your desires or someone to get a job done.

He was a man; tortured, haunted, and desperately longing for anyone to give him the real love he had never experienced. His whole life he had been a nuisance, a freak, an object, a commodity—but never once had you made him feel like any of those things.

You made him feel wanted—actually wanted. You loved him without condition. You had understood Worick and loved him dearly before sex or romantic feelings, nurturing him in ways no one had bothered. Over time he had learned that even at your angriest, there was nothing he could do that made you hate him.

You made Worick feel worth more than the cheap trash his father had considered him. His family, his clients, his employers, his city…they all saw him as garbage or something for sale. Though he loved his childhood guardian Nicolas Brown, he hated him as well, never certain whether Nico stayed because he loved him too or because young Wallace Arcangelo had ordered the slave to do so.

As far as knowing love, there was only you. It created obsession within him, and it only caused him to find you more beautiful.

More irresistible.

His insatiable appetite for you caused some irritation when you were focused elsewhere, and it led to many heated arguments with you threatening to leave time and again. Worick knew it was all for show. He knew you longed for him as much as he desired you—that you wanted him as badly as anyone could want another person. But this game the two of you played was thrilling and both of you had an unspoken agreement that you would play it until things went up in flames.

Adjusting himself and knocking your feet to the floor he questioned, “What page are you on?”

You looked up frantically. “No. Don’t even think about it, Worick! Not again.”

“What?” he asked innocently, trying to move closer to you and see over the cover.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not doing that to me again. It takes all the fun out of the story,” you scolded, hoping that shielding the page would deter his photographic memory. “If I tell you the page number, you’re going to start reciting the whole damn book!”

He grinned sheepishly as he said, “Maybe you shouldn’t play so dirty anymore, babe.”

“I mean it! Do _not_ spoil the ending or I’m out of here. For real, this time,” you commanded, pushing (h/c) strands of hair out of your face and daring him with your glare.

The phone began to ring. You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he would be busy momentarily. “Tch,” he huffed as he rose from the couch. “You’re no fun tonight.”

Still watching him suspiciously as he neared the receiver, you tensed as he gave you that mischievous smile. “He finally gets the girl and gets murdered in the last chapter,” he spoiled.

You scowled at the childish look on his face. There was no point in confirming. You knew it would be accurate. He had done it on purpose, punishing you for teasing him.

“Hello, Benriya speaking,” he answered coolly as you angrily chucked the novel at his head. He caught it effortlessly and rolled his eyes at you, following that with a maddeningly seductive grin.

As he spoke with the client, you signed to him that you were out of there, and he pulled a mocked hurt face, mouthing, “Bye, hun.”

It pissed you off further that he was still challenging you by being patronizing. You stood in front of him and unbuttoned each button of the pricey dress shirt you had borrowed from his closet. It was something you often wore while your clothes were running through the benriya washing machine after a day of staying in bed. You flicked open the last button on the garment and shot him another look of disdain.

Worick's jaw dropped open as he beheld you before him, the body he desired above all others just feet from his reach. He waved his hand in a motion to tell you how hot he thought you looked and pouted that he was tethered away by the phone cord.

Ignoring his compliments, you hurled the shirt at him. Worick’s now sweet smelling garment landed covering his face and head. When he pulled it off to continue his business call, he watched you walk into his bedroom, staring at your bare back and magnificently rounded cheeks peeking from the bottom of your lacy (f/c) underwear. Worick chewed his lip and adjusted himself again, pressure getting out of control.

He knew he needed to wrap up this call before you actually made it out the door. Trying to finish the conversation, he gazed in agony as you emerged from the bedroom with your black high-heeled pumps in hand. “Don’t do it!” he mouthed. You slipped one shoe over a delicate foot and placed your weight on that enticingly bare limb. Worick bit his hand, stifling a moan as the heel lifted your ass and perfectly shaped your leg, leaving the other toes dusting the floor.

You turned your back to him intentionally, furthering his anguish as you bent to slide on the other heel. Worick could hardly contain the strain in his voice as he said, “Mr. Monroe, I _really_ must be going, sir,” then raised his eyebrows at you in panic as the phone call continued. You grabbed your long red coat and showed him your middle finger, your glare as icy as ever.

He mouthed to you again—slowly, deliberately, “(f/n), honey. Stay,” and then said aloud, “I understand, sir. I’ll make sure Nic gets the message.”

Annoyed, you thrust your arms into the sleeves and tied the coat closed with its sash. As you walked out the door to the stairwell, you heard Worick hastily say, “Goodbye, Mr. Monroe,” and while you descended to the landing below, you heard his footsteps following rapidly after you. About to step into the street, he pulled you backwards against his chest, pressing his firm body to the soft crimson fabric of your coat.

Worrick whispered, “Where do you think you’re going?”

It was warm and tickled your neck, but you maintained your hostile attitude. “Home. You ruined my book. So, I really don’t feel like playing tonight.”

“Home?” he tutted, as he spun you around and backed you into the door that led to Nic’s room and the kitchen. He placed his flat palm against the door to the side of your head and leaned closer still, “Are you sure? ‘ You think I’ll let you walk these dangerous roads alone, at night, _in this?_ ” His hand tugged free the sash and the deep cherry overcoat fell open, exposing your bare middle. “A little too seductive, don’t you think?”

As his fingers slid deftly over your waist and down to grip your behind, he kissed your neck, making your reasons for being so stubborn challenging to recall. Placing your hands on his sculpted biceps, you breathed against his ear, “You’re one to talk.”

“Hm?” he hummed distractedly before looking at himself and remembering he was only in his unbuttoned jeans and dark grey briefs. “Oh,” he chuckled softly. Then Worick looked at you pleadingly with his one good eye and asked you to come back inside. “I need you. You can’t turn me on like this and then storm away. Are you _trying_ to leave me blue over here?” he asked, placing your fingers on the waistband to his briefs. “Because it’s working.”

You thrilled over his words, but kept at your taunting game. “If you’re feeling so hard up, go take a client or something,” you mocked while simultaneously gliding your hands seductively over his firm back.

“Ooo. So mean,” he pouted. “Don’t do that, (f/n). You know I don’t just want some body to pleasure me. I _need_ your body. You’re the only one that drives me this crazy.” He snaked an arm around your waist, touch blazing against your skin and he cooed again, “You know what you do to me. I _need_ you.”

You smirked and gently ran your fingers through his beautiful silky hair, behind his ear to remove the string holding his eyepatch in place. He gazed at you lovingly as you took it in your hand and touched your other fingers delicately to his scar. Your fingers traveled down the side of his face and you tilted his chin forward so that he faced you further. Placing a soft kiss to your lover’s damaged skin, you pulled away and stared back at him, (e/c) orbs softening.

“Idiot,” you hummed as your lips captured his.

That was all it took. Worick deepened the kiss as your back pressed harder against the door. One of his hands rested on your spine between woolly red fabric and soft (pale/brown/etc) skin. The lightness of his fingers, the gentleness despite his rough callouses, was completely intoxicating. Your sweet breath mingled with Worick’s, and he pushed nearer still, raising you slightly and relishing your naked torso against his.

Desperate to feel him fully, you tugged him free of his underwear and he pushed yours to the side, lifting you higher so he could enter. A satisfied moan escaped both mouths at tensions finally being released.

You ground slowly against him as he thrust hard, deep strokes into you, filling both of you with pleasure. He pulled your jacket further around to conceal the pair of you, not that it mattered in this neighborhood. You grabbed his silky blonde hair and growled, “Faster, baby.”

Your lover was more than willing to fill your request. As he expertly drove deeper inside you in the breezeway, the door flew open and the two of you collapsed to the floor. Worrick used his hands to cushion your fall, catching most of the impact on his elbows.

You both craned your necks to find the man you knew would be there. Hovering above you, glaring down disapprovingly was a short, raven-haired man with an exceptionally intimidating face.

“Nico!” you shouted even though you were aware he couldn’t hear you.

Standing in his military green pants and a black tank top that clung to his ripped body, he grimaced at the two of you and shook his head. Nicolas signed, “You’re at it again?”

“Sorry,” you mouthed.

Worick sat up, quickly pulling briefs back in place, to sign to his friend, ”I thought you would be longer on the job you had tonight.”

As Worick pulled you to your feet, Nic responded, hands moving rapidly and admonishing look still in his eyes, “You know you always take too long. I finished early. And-- I thought you said you weren’t going to do this against my door anymore.”

Nico grumpily pulled your red coat closed since you had completely forgotten, and you blushed and clutched its two sides together.

“Sorry, mate,” Worick signed. Then he lifted you over his shoulder, hand on your ass for support. Starting aloud so that his friend could read his lips, he said, “Nico, how can I resist, huh?” He leaned his head against your soft woolen covered behind and smiled cheekily at his best friend. You rolled your eyes. “Have a heart. You would understand if you knew—“ and the rest of his words were silent as he mouthed them privately to Nicolas.

As Worick turned to carry you upstairs, you heard Nic’s signature “tch” and saw that devilish grin grace his lips.

“Oh come on, you guys!” you scolded. “You can’t do that. What did he say, Nico?”

Nico’s grin increased and he shook his head.

“Worick!” you shouted as he began carrying you back up the stairs. “What did you say? If he knew what?”

He laughed and responded, “I doubt you want to know.”

As he placed you carefully on the floor, making sure you had your balance on those black heels, you gave him your best stony glare once more, warning him not to start the night’s teasing all over.

His blue eye shone mischievously and he laughed again with an answer.

“I said –If he knew what you did when you're down on me,” he hummed, pulling the door closed behind you.

 

 

 

 

 

**_The End. NOT EVEN SORRY!!!_ **


End file.
